


Early Mornings are for Pancakes (not Star Wars)

by BabySnoopy



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, fLUFF CITY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabySnoopy/pseuds/BabySnoopy
Summary: i mean, the title says it all





	Early Mornings are for Pancakes (not Star Wars)

The ambulance siren did a glorious job of waking you up, the ringing echoed much louder than you ever remembered them to be. Eyes still squinting, you realise that Hansol left the window slightly open again, the summer breeze inviting herself in as she blew through the curtains. Golden hour at sunrise was underrated. It was like a secret, the sky showing off her rose golden tinges only to those who were awake, whilst those snoozing away were blissfully unaware of the raw magic that was happening outside. You turn to the body sound asleep next to you and found that Hansol must be the sole exception. It was probably just the sheer coincidence that your bed is positioned right under the window, but he laid in place that perfectly let the sun kiss him good morning, his skin glowing and copper hues radiating from his ruffled bed hair. It was as if the sky wanted to extend her artistry to include him and you were infinitely jealous that someone could be so beautiful in these early hours. 

Your hand reached over to him and you couldn’t stop yourself from brushing the strands from his forehead.

It creeped you out the first time he slept over, how he maintained the same position throughout the night. Eerily keeping himself symmetrical, legs straight and hands over his stomach. So it caught you by surprise one morning when you felt arms wrapped around from behind you and a leg sprawled over yours. There was no grand meaning behind this, nothing more than a subconscious act, but there was a revelation to it; like he trusted you. From then on, you wanted to wake up earlier than he did whenever he was over, just to have these little selfish moments to yourself. You always did anyway because he could let the alarm ring 11 times and still wouldn’t hear it. It was almost voyeuristic, the way your eyes were glued to his slumbering form but you couldn’t help it.

You bring your hand back over his face and as soon as your thumb grazed over the tip of his eyebrow, Hansol’s eyes sprung open in a way that didn’t have a trace of drowsiness in them. The sudden movement sent a jolt right through your chest and you feel like you’ve been caught red-handed. His own hand then came to encircle the wrist you still held over his face. He definitely didn’t look like someone who had just woken up.

He cocked an eyebrow at you, clearly amused by your current stance. “Were you watching me sleep?”

Your mouth hung slightly open, flustered and quite unsure of how to respond. Yes, you _were_ watching him sleep? Yes, he looked so beautiful lying there, completely unconscious, you just wanted to stare at him forever? It was much too early for pretty words and elaborate compliments so you let yourself become speechless.

Hansol chuckled softly, lowering the hand he still had a grasp on to let it rest on his chest. Though he shut his eyes again, he let his fingers trace your fingernails absent-mindedly. “If you’re pulling an Edward Cullen on me, then you have no choice but to join me for that Star Wars marathon you keep putting off.”

How could you forget the incredulous look that graced his face when you shamelessly admitted you had never seen Star Wars? It was a slow Saturday afternoon in a run-down diner when he set down his burger altogether and leaned back into his seat, staring at you with a fascination, coming to terms that there really were people out here who hadn’t seen the space opera franchise. “Like, ever?” 

You shrugged, popping another french fry into your mouth. “Ever.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve watched the Twilight movies but _not_ Star Wars?”

You look away sheepishly. In your defence, you didn’t watch the Twilight series by free will, it was just a bandwagon interest at the time. He raised his palm to his temple to rub his head in circles like he was trying to prevent a headache, his mind completely blown by this new fact. But it wasn’t long before his shock turned into thinking, brows furrowed and his mind visibly picking up speed. He was hatching an elaborate plan in his head and _snap!_ “We’re having a marathon. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever. I swear, you’ll love it.”

It was a one-sided promise you had made six weeks ago, though he’s been pressing you about it ever since. You pull your hand away from his chest and sat up on the bed, pulling the covers away from him. He might have been, uncharacteristically, awake so early in the morning today but you were certain he was going to lounge about here till noon. “Alright, only if you make breakfast.”

He whined disapprovingly like a child, unaccepting of this deal as he kicked his feet and turned away from you to face the window. “But that’s _so_ unfair. You just have to sit there and watch the movies with me but _I_ have to _cook_?” There was a humorous distaste when he said ‘cook’.

“Oh c’mon. I was going to make pancakes anyway, so I have all the ingredients. You just have to put them together.” You shook his lifeless, limp body but he wouldn’t budge.

“Then why don’t _you_ make breakfast?” 

“Okay, and you can watch that marathon _yourself_?” He turned back to glare at you, though as much as he tried to pierce through you with a stabbing expression of resistance, the hazel in his eyes illuminated by the sunlight softened the stare and he became even, insultingly, cuter.

“Fine. But you have to help me.” Oh joy! He’s finally, actually agreed to making breakfast with you and had you known it were that easy, you would’ve made this bargain a long, long time back. He was motivated to make pancakes with you for Star Wars but _not_ for your birthday? You guess it came as no surprise from a geek like Hansol, though you wouldn’t bat an eyelash for it as you had your own little obsessions too. You squealed with delight and skipped your way over to the kitchen, carefully taking out the flour, eggs, milk and the rest of the ingredients you checked off in your head. 

It was a personal victory. From the outside it might just appear to be the step-by-step process of making an inconspicuous morning meal, but pancakes (specifically chocolate chip pancakes) were very dear to you, being the first proper recipe your mom ever taught you. Funnily, it also wasn’t a recipe that was beyond amazing that you would willingly present a plate to Mr. Gordon Ramsay himself, but it was just the very act of coming together to make these pancakes. Additionally, you’d be making these pancakes with the one you love, so could it get any better?

Hansol cracked the eggs at a pace that would make even snails jealous, though you spared no time in mixing the rest of the ingredients in, the portions memorised by heart like they were the lyrics to your favourite song.

“You know,” he started, gently throwing the egg shells into the bin, “watching that marathon includes cuddling _and_ snacking, emphasis on the _snacking_ , as the ultimate perks. Whereas cooking gets me, up at 6 in the morning and,” you dust off the flour on your fingertips by swiping it across Hansol’s cheek, “this.”

“Yeah, but you’re doing this for me! Isn’t it fun?” Hansol dips his pinky finger into the batter you were mixing and smears it onto your nose. Though you flinch, you happily stuck your tongue out, trying to lick it off your nose and struggling to succeed.

“If it gets you to smile like this, I’d do anything for you.” 

“God, no. It’s too early for cringe-worthy lines.”

“It’s too early to be making pancakes!”

It was a win-win situation after all. You conclude that you’ve finally seen it all as you watched Hansol move at a rushed pace to put on the movie that he conveniently saved onto his hard drive. He was humming something while connecting cables and plugging them into mysterious places behind the television. When he made himself comfortable on the couch, constructing a wall of a tiny fort using the cushions, he patted the place next to you when you came over with the pancakes slathered with Nutella and littered with mixed berries.

Hansol was already midst-ramble in explaining key characters and important backstories that you _had_ to keep in mind as the title “A NEW HOPE” rolled into the screen. His hands sliced through the air to elevate his explanations and you could only stare on and on at him, knowing that as interesting as Star Wars might really be, you were much more intrigued by his passionate nodding and the nerdy fire in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd really like to write something more elaborate for hansol with more references to star wars bc, unlike the reader in this fic, i L O V E star wars,, someday perhaps


End file.
